"No!"
"The boy said different."
"Mebbe," Grant said slowly, "'twould be best to shoot him. I'll go on
Trilley Ridge with--with who used to be my kin."
Jeff heaved a great sigh. First things first, always a new customer down
the road, and if he went on the ridge, he would have time to think. If
he did not, his hours were numbered anyway. He said slowly, "Let it be
your way, Barr."
Barr said quietly, "'Tis well ye say so, for 'twould not be right should
a Whitney shoot a Whitney or be shot by one. D'ye lack aught?"
"My pack."
Barr looked curiously at him but Jeff made no attempt to satisfy his
curiosity. He'd always been able to pull almost anything he needed out
of his pack and there should be something to help him now. He couldn't
think of what it was, but the pack had been a part of him for so long
that he would feel better if he had it.
"Whar's the pack?" Barr asked.
"At Granny Wilson's."
"Get it an' fetch it," Barr directed Yancey. "D'ye need aught else?"